Grey day and glitters

My mom is proudly displaying the bracelet she got with Lora a few weeks ago. She was pleased that it looked so nice, even on a cloudy day.

Our talk is most often about houses. When we walk by them, it's about if she would or wouldn't want to live there, and why. In parks like this one, Cornwall Park, she'll say, "I bet that in five years this will all be filled with houses." Or, "I wonder how long they'll keep it like this before they build houses." I stubbornly stick to my line: "Well, but it IS a park. They might just leave it as a park." She grunts at that, more pessimistic than I am, or maybe not understanding what a park is. And who knows what's safe anymore anyway.